Whatever Remains However Improbable
by XxHeartlessKissxX
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson have been solving crimes in London for years. Sam and Dean Winchester have hunted since they were kids. When a particularly gory case heads in the direction of the supernatural Sherlock makes a phone call and Mycroft warily pulls the Winchesters from their current case in the U.S because Genius or not, Sherlock is no hunter.
1. A Study In splatter

**A/N**: Alright so...not completely sure where this is headed yet, so have a prologue and we shall see what progresses from here together!  
Please excuse any OOC-ness, it's hard to be in the heads of so many characters at once when you didn't create them.

There may be some proper smut later! If I decide to do that the rating will go up.

* * *

**A Study In Splatter**

John Watson chased after his companion as London's night began to give way to dawn, a light drizzle coming down in defiance of the approaching sun that would burn away the clouds that were its source.

Sherlock Holmes was hot on the tail of a serial killer, one who had inexplicably vanished and re-appeared as some one entirely different. He closed in, mind taking in all possible routes the man could take to try and subvert him as well as the speed at which John would be able to change course behind him. The man across the street with the shopping cart was blocking one route which left either straight or the alley.

Sure enough the man ducked into the alley seconds before Sherlock rounded the corner and...fell. John was there a split second later "What in the name of god, is that?"

Sherlock was sitting, and also somewhat coated, in a gooey mess of what appeared to be chunks of a pale peach color and something akin to mucus. John bent beside him, poking at it lightly, "Sherlock, this is flesh...this is a bloody pile of some sodding git's skin."

The younger man nodded, "Yes, I was afraid this would happen now it'll be more difficult to catch him but I should be able to do it...yes." Sherlock stood and shook the ick of his hands, ready to resume giving chase to the man who had no doubt used his fall to gain time down the street at the opposite mouth of the alley.

He hesitated however, seeing John's horrified confusion. "Oh for the...John think we've seen this before, the Idleson case?"  
John for his part did his best but he didn't remember a pile of slimy bits and pieces laying about on that case, "I'm sorry but I seem to remember the killer having skin on him in that one."

Sherlock let out a long-suffering sigh, "Amazing how much of an idiot even you can be. Think John, why couldn't you put that one on your blog? Because we were asked not too? Of course not that's never stopped you before."

The dark-haired man leaned forward, waiting for his partner to remember. "The...uh..Shape-shifter? That's, hold on, that's what it looks like when it's done with one appearance?" The doctor asked, gesturing disgustedly toward the pile.

Sherlock nodded, "Correct, you have earned one kiss." He leaned toward John who promptly backed up, "Save it for after you shower, there's some of the, left-overs, on your lips."

Sherlock's soured expression didn't leave until they had made their way back to the flat and he complained about John insisting they give up the chase ("Sherlock it doesn't even look the same and we've been here long enough for it to have gotten a taxi or run through a convulted route that even if you did follow would probably just have another pile of gross at the end!") the entire way.

* * *

Once back at the flat Sherlock immediately went to the photographs from the case, or at least he tried to, John was not having it and shoved him instead in the direction of a shower.

"John this is ridiculous I need to work!"

"Sherlock Holmes if you want into my bed ever again you will wash that potential harmful vileness of your person immediately."

"Fine. You didn't need to use the command voice by the way, I was not intending to get into an actual argument and defense mechanisms re-"

"SHOWER!"

The bathroom door clicked shut and John put on the kettle, looking down at the photo's himself, brow furrowed, after all you didn't live with a man like Sherlock without a tiny bit of him rubbing off.

Fifteen minutes later Sherlock was seated at the table with a cup of tea beside him, John's hands resting gently on his shoulders.

"There's one thing though that I don't understand." John said, lips slightly pursed.

"Only one?" Sherlock said, eyebrow raised.

John flicked him, "Yes, we were chasing a shifter down the street but these killings...Sherlock shifters just don't do this. That hunter bloke we met said that they kill in ways that humans do, these look more animalistic than that."

Sherlock nodded, "Well yes of course, I never said the shifter was the killer, but he was a lead. No matter whatever it is, it's still supernatural. I'll have Mycroft's people collect that flesh splatter in the alley and bring it to Bart's. Molly will no doubt be helpful in examining it, just as long as Irene doesn't come for a visit again to try and steal state secrets."

John shifted slightly, "Sherlock...what else is out there?" he gestured with one hand vaguely before returning it to his partners shoulder.

Sherlock sighed, "John I don't know the extent, I am not a expert and the hunter we met barely seemed to know what he was doing outside of a few basic monsters like the shifters."

Both men were silent for a few moments, John trying to make his perception of reality accomodate the number of nightmares that were real and Sherlock walking through his mind-palace for information that might be useful.

"John, my phone please."

Used to the request after so many years with the detective John reached to the corner of the table where Sherlock had set it upon exiting the shower. He tried to hand it to his love but Sherlock just gave him a mildly pleading look.

"Calling Mycroft then." John stated. Sherlock nodded, "Yes, as the British government embodied he is aware that there is more to fairy-tales than questionable and useless attempts at frightening children. I believe he knows a couple of Americans who will be able to lend some much needed insight on this case and after I talk to them I will likely never need a hunters help to solve supernatural crimes again."

"Sherlock fairy-tales are there to help develop morals!" John said exhaustedly, he wasn't questioning Sherlock's, because underneath it all John Watson was more than aware that Sherlock had a pure heart.

He dialed Mycroft and briefly explained the case and why they were calling, Sherlock sitting like a surly child the whole time.

John set the phone down, "He's making arrangements now." He leaned over the darker man, "Now put work away, you owe me a kiss" Sherlock allowed himself to open up more and grinned, moving his chair so he could pull the smaller man into his lap and kiss him.

"Captain Watson I do believe I owe you a lot more than just a meager kiss"


	2. The Socially Blind Holmes

**A/N**: This one, excluding the notes, is exactly 3300 words. I feel accomplished. Thanks for your patience ^^

* * *

**The Socially Blind Holmes**

Mycroft Holmes checked his watch, his steel gray suit jacket feeling a little loser than it had the last time he wore it and in doing so pleasing him, late.

Mycroft sighed, really one would think the American airports would have this figured out by now and the planes would not end up delayed so often.

He was pleased to claim credit for the higher efficiency rating in Britain, not that he often did but still, and thought maybe he ought to have some words with the American's about at least not keeping him waiting.

The elder Holmes brother spared a glance in the direction of the large electronic board displaying arrival and departure times, fortunately he might let the American's slide by on this one as the plane in question was only a few minutes behind and should have landed roughly two minutes before Mycroft had checked his watch.

"Yes that could just be weather or slight speed changes." He murmured, walking briskly toward the baggage claim that was now displaying Flight 654.

Mycroft's upper lip twitched in distaste as he realized he would have to either hold up the infernal sign or call out for his charges as they had no idea how to recognize him.

Typically, he would not even have been there, but seeing as the Winchester brothers were going to have direct contacted with Sherlock, Captain Watson (as Mycroft thought of him), and Mrs. Hudson (Not that he cared for her, but she was special to Sherlock) he had thought it most prudent to retrieve them himself, a chore he was beginning to find loathsome.

"Should've brought Greg…" he observed listlessly, his partner would've made it at least more entertaining.

Gregory Lestrade like to point out people he'd seen arrested, almost arrested or had arrested with great enthusiasm. Mycroft knew that such behavior was purely for his benefit but it didn't make it any less fun for Greg.

Finally he saw the duo in the still-gathering crowd. Dean, the slighter of the two, looked annoyed which Mycroft easily saw through as a cover for the last vestiges of fear, not fond of flying then, he would try to remember that he supposed.

Sam, taller than Mycroft had expected, on the other hand looked amused, though his concern for his older brother was not far behind and Mycroft decided that the Winchesters were nothing at all like Sherlock and himself.

When they had collected their baggage and began looking around in confusion Mycroft made a small sound of annoyance at himself, weighed the options and decided that holding the formal sign was more dignified than trying to fight the crowd.

He pulled the laminated tube from where he'd allowed it to rest in the third fold of his umbrella and neatly unfurled it, watching as Dean spotted him and started toward him, slapping Sam's arm to get his attention.

"Well looks like a proper British Gent to me Sammy. Fancy some tea and crumpets good sir?" Dean chuckled, putting on one of the most atrocious attempts at a British accent Mycroft had ever heard as Sam shot him a disapproving look, yes this was going to be a trip best taken with Advil.

* * *

John Watson looked in mild disgust at the kitchen table, or what passed for a kitchen table at 221B Baker St leastways. "Sherlock please do something with your experiments, the two hunters your brother called for will be here soon and I'd rather the kitchen didn't look like pig intestine heaven."

Sherlock, for his part, refrained for pointing out that it was not, in fact, pig that was spread and spliced on the table between several beakers. It was hardly, he thought to himself as he reluctantly began to clear the mess away, his fault that John thought so, pig was remarkably similar to human after all and John did try not to jump to that conclusion too often for the sake of his sanity.

The doctor nodded to himself, glad but surprised Sherlock had even heard him let alone complied. He tried to straighten up some of the clutter that had become his life since moving in with the Detective and was glad he did as he found the bills that had fallen out of his pocket a week previously.

* * *

Both men had done all they felt they could without having to truly re-organize the whole place and were sitting in comfortable silence, John with his book and Sherlock with his thoughts, on the couch some twenty minutes later. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, the other man having lain down, his head in John's lap and his legs curled as Sherlock allowed himself to wander his mind palace, looking once more for any creature he might have heard of that would pertain to their current case.

The silence was broken by the sound of voices moving steadily toward their door, Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft along with two unfamiliar tones. Sherlock sat up and straightened his shirt, John marked his page and set his book aside as Mycroft's voice sounded directly on the other side of their door, "My brother, Sherlock can be difficult, try not to punch him. You will no doubt find his partner John very agreeable, most do."

There was a murmured sort of assent and two sharp rasps on the door, which John had already moved toward and so opened immediately. Mycroft stepped in, nodding to the doctor and giving Sherlock his best disdainful look, "I know you heard me; that goes for you too: Don't make them want to punch you."

Sherlock simply tilted his head in his brother's direction his slight smirk told Mycroft that the younger man would make no such guarantee.

Mrs. Hudson was next "Sherlock, I see John made you move some of the mess, good thing to these boys take up more room than either of you dear."

She moved toward the kitchen where the kettle was just beginning to sing, "I'll get everyone a cuppa just this once, but I'm still not your housekeeper!"

The two men that had followed her in did indeed take up more room than anyone else and Sherlock found a good deal of data before they had even fully taken in him. John was glad he'd never been particularly height sensitive as the giants in his living room could give an average man's ego a blow. He closed the door softly and moved to stand closer to Sherlock, laying a hand on the mans shoulder.

Sam opened his mouth to introduce himself but was cut off by Mrs. Hudson calling from the kitchen, "Don't mind the mess you too and what do you take in your tea?"

"Mrs. Hudson these men do not take anything with their tea, unless we have spirits and even then you could hold the tea, I'd even go so far as to say that only the one even drinks tea." Sherlock's sharp gaze roamed over both the brothers, despite having already gathered what he needed as Sam tried once again to speak.

"I'm S-"

"Oh don't bother he can tell you everything about yourself, just find a place to put your things and take a seat so we can begin." Mycroft cut him off this time and Sam promptly dropped his duffel in a corner, sitting on the chair with the Union Jack pillow after shifting it to better face the couch.

Dean wasn't having that however, though he did set his own bag near Sam's, "I'm sorry? you drag us all the way to another country without telling us why were here, apparently you're not just a ride from the airport, you're Mycroft Holmes the freaking British Government, we end up in an apartment with an old lady and you telling us not to punch your brother and we're supposed to just sit down quietly, not even tell you our names and pretend that this is a normal chat with friends?"

"Still jittery from the flight I see dear, here's your tea." Mrs. Hudson said handing Dean a cup and saucer before giving a second to Sam and setting the tea tray on the coffee table for the others. Speechless at the woman's seemingly oblivious manner Dean just looked at the tea.

"Mycroft shut-up." Sherlock pre-empted his brother's answer to Dean's speech, John smiling just slightly at the offended look on the umbrella carrying man's face as he shifted from where he had awkwardly seated himself beside Sherlock on the sofa.

"He dragged you hear because I asked him too, I'm on a case, a good sized one, and though I am more than capable of catching any killer I cannot do it without knowing what the killer is, I have regrettably limited knowledge of the creatures that we share this world with and I refuse to work with another complete idiot, so I had Mycroft bring two experts who are fortunately smarter than the last hunter I worked with, if only marginally."

"Thanks." Dean chimed in with a shit eating grin as Sam made a face.

" As for why you were not allowed to introduce yourselves, Mycroft knows who you are, John is out-numbered and so his socially mindful ways are being suppressed, Mrs. Hudson is far too used to this kind of thing, and I learned more than you could ever tell me the second you walked in my door."

"Um, Sherlock…Dear." Mrs. Hudson could see that he was about to start in on their guests.

"You are either Samuel or maybe Daniel, though I'd definitely say Sam is what you go by, you are the younger sibling and you tend to be the more logical one and also the more sentimental, your relationships with women end badly, you didn't get on well with your father and you and your brother, a James or Dean, though more likely a Dean, are exceedingly loyal to one another. You are both involved with someone, Sam of the same sex, Dean of the opposite. Dean drinks more than he should and has a preference for greasy fast foods, he has been through torment, both of you have though him twice and more recently. You, Dean, are the shot first ask questions later type and more volatile and reckless than your brother, you tend to try to hide behind a smart mouth."

"Sherlock stop this." Mycroft tried, seeing mild terror in Sherlock's eyes, he was losing control.

"Neither of you have much money, Dean hates flying and Sam used to be terrified of clowns though that fear was confronted, both of you have spent far too long killing and are tired to the core. You also argue an annoying amount, though I'd say part of it i-"

"I AM A FROG PRINCE SHERLOCK." John yelled, over his lover's steadily rising voice. The simple absurdity of the words snapping Sherlock out of his mental rut as he turned toward John, his relief evident "No you aren't, you're my blogger."

The room went silent, Sam, as it had been established now, leaned forward some, "Not to be rude, what was that?"

Dean snorted, "He's insane and we just got dragged to Europe to help him Sam, get on your best knickers."

John spoke, "Sherlock is a genius, like Mycroft, and both of them have Eidetic memories, they remember everything. Sherlock can pick out tiny details from very subtle hint about your person, both of you are bursting with them and he did not have a chance to catalogue them in his mind properly before speaking to you, so it all came pouring out to re-affirm itself, I'm afraid it's hard for him to stop sometimes and he's been rather stressed lately. I promise the people in this room are only mildly insane and besides Mycroft's the one to look out for. Knickers are underwear. "

Sherlock nodded, "Yes and John's got a freckle that looks like Africa on his bum, are we satisfactorily introduced yet?"

John scowled, Sam and Dean looked at each other and simultaneously asked, "Who are you?"

Sherlock stood then, huffing slightly, "Sherlock Holmes, the world's first and only Consulting Detective. This is Dr. John Watson, former Army Captain, my blogger and partner. This large man is my brother, Mycroft but you knew that. The older woman is Mrs. Hudson our landlady and friend."

Sam cleared his throat, "Uh..nice to meet you. I guess." Dean gave a mirthless laugh, "I'm Dean Winchester, like you said, and this is my brother Sam, also like you said."

"Well now that you've all been properly introduced and had some tea, I think I best go before I burn my dinner." Mrs. Hudson said, smiling at the gathered men before slipping out.

"What do you people have that woman on?" Dean asked, watching her leave.

John shrugged, "It's nice having her here, coming home from cases filled with adrenaline and having a mother hen cluck at you, just what Sherlock needs." Sherlock groaned softly at that, plopping back on the couch, "Yes, clearly you and Mycroft are not motherly enough."

Dean even chuckled a little at the detective's distress, now that the atmosphere had calmed some he got a look around and promptly decided that it would've been nicer without all the clutter, but not as…homey. Beside him Sam was thinking the same thing, until he noticed the human skull and tried to think of something to say.

"So, what was it?" Sherlock said suddenly, Mycroft, also curious, turned toward Sam and Dean as well.

"What was what?" Sam said, eyebrows raised, feeling like he missed something as all three men were turned toward him and Dean.

"Sherlock's observations tend to always miss something or get something wrong, he wants to know what it was with you two." John supplied helpfully and it was clear to the brothers that neither Mycroft nor Sherlock would've bothered explaining.

Deciding that he did indeed like John the best Dean answered, "You said I was involved with someone of the opposite sex and Sam with someone of the same sex, but I'm with Castiel who is-"

"A man, currently. Where are we?" The Angel in question answered, having come at the mention of his name. "Are we in London? It smells like London. What are you doing in London?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up as he looked over the newest arrival, John's jaw dropped and he started rather badly at the sudden appearance, Mycroft merely straightened his tie, having dealt with an angel before.

"What are you?" Sherlock asked, standing and moving around Castiel fascinatedly. "I'm Castiel, an angel of the Lord. Why London?" The last had been directed toward Dean.

Sherlock looked at the man in the face then, "You're friends are in London because I asked them here to help me solve a case. God's real then…does he still do things in heaven, if there is a heaven, I'm just assuming seeing as you're an angel."

Cas looked Sherlock over, getting a feel for this strange human as another man, smaller with blond hair came closer, looking at him in awe, "Yes there is a heaven, you're very smart to ask if my father still operates there, the answer is no."

Sherlock nodded, "This confirms so much, if only I could run some experiments and…" he dissolved into mumbling to himself for a few seconds, Dean worriedly moving in front of Cas while Sam and Mycroft glanced at each other, both amused.

A devious glint in his eye Sherlock looked back at Castiel, "Do you have feathered wings?"

"I do have wings yes, they would be feathered if they manifested physically however they retain my holy form as celestial light."

Sherlock made a delighted sound, "This is not your true form then, or your own body…that explains the over-lapping data, though the original owner has been gone for some time, there are just a few traces…are there any ways to contain celestial light, say in a beaker?"

This time John cut in, "No Sherlock, you are not allowed to experiment on angels."

Dean nodded, "Damn right he's not." He wrapped one arm protectively around Castiel, behind him Sam's expression darkened for a moment as he thought of his angel who would've let Sherlock think he was experimenting on him.

He cleared his head of thoughts of Gabriel, who was lost to him, and focused on reality.

Mycroft broke into Sherlock's pouting and Castiel's uncertain queries to Dean, "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we are not all here simply to bicker and learn about each other, there is a monster loose in London and I want it stopped."

Sherlock and John both dialed in, as did the visiting Americans (and Cas).

John pointed out "Better call Lestrade then, he needs to be part of this." Too which Mycroft naturally agreed.

Seeing a freight train of information and crazy barreling towards Sam and Dean, who were far more worn out than they were letting on, Castiel stepped forward.

"This should wait until tomorrow. It's getting later, Sam and Dean are exhausted and so are you," He pointed at Mycroft, "and Mr. Holmes focus is to set on the Heavenly Host. This Lestrade, are they not likely to be busy as well?"

Mycroft acquiesced, "He is and Greg will be exhausted after today, I heard several breakouts occurred today at the jail, two of which were Greg's prisoners. The angel is right, this will simply have to wait." He looked less sour now than a few moments before, once his Greg was brought into it.

Sam stood, "So, I guess we'll find somewhere to stay tonight and get started fresh in the morning, come on Dean, Cas."

Mycroft gave them a small smile, "No need, you will stay in one of my nearby housings, a nice affair where you will not be disturbed, except by the somewhat clumsy housekeeper, she will provide anything you might need to be comfortable. I'll see you there."

The three men looked at each other, Dean shrugged at Sam and Cas simply gave the reply, "That would be…welcomed."

"Mycroft, I think we should also bring Molly in on this and maybe…Irene." John said, causing Sherlock to raise an eyebrow.

The elder Holmes brother paused and then nodded, "Very well, I'll have them informed of the meeting place for tomorrow, and you as well of course. Goodbye." With that he, and the Winchesters plus angel, were gone.

John let out a big breath, Sherlock's arms sliding around him, "I knew God was real of course." Sherlock said imperiously, causing John to giggle, "You did not."

"Sh. Now why involve Molly? And Irene?" The detective asked, not following John's thought.

"Well I thought it would be obvious. Irene can irritate Dean, who seems a bit arrogant, Molly can soften them both up and she can help autopsy the bodies. That way you don't have to spend any extra time doing that, I know you say you don't put stock in her reports but you do and you know it, she's very through, and if anything gets left on a body that's not human Molly won't go mental. Irene is always weirdly helpful when it comes to finding out where things hide too." John smiled slightly, glad his reasons sounded decent out loud as well as in his head.

Sherlock chuckled, "Clever Doctor." He dropped his head to nuzzle John's shoulder, fully out of detective mode and into cuddly partner mode.

"Alright you git, I know you're tired, you didn't sleep again last night, let's have a lie down yeah?" John said, already pulling Sherlock toward their bedroom, watching a smile spread across his love's face as he nodded, "Then we'll have time for other things later."

"You're impossible!"


End file.
